


kleptomaniac.

by ceclios



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: :), Arthur dies, Beating, Brainwashing, Gaslighting, Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Gore, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Violence, but so does micah!!, reader doesnt trust many, reader is a thief, the fic is basically a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceclios/pseuds/ceclios
Summary: demir, a kleptomaniac, erh- thief. a man who claims to have emigrated to ‘merica for a better life. his sister’s sick and needs money for treatment, lots of it.demir spots a fancy man one evening, already had his pockets full of profit but when he saw that glint from that platinum watch, he was like a crow, unable to back off.he ends up being smacked to unconsciousness and tied to a tree in an unrecognizable camp. trying his best to return to his sick sister, he robs the mexican in the camp, only to be met with more trouble.
Relationships: Javier Escuella & You, Javier Escuella/Original Male Character(s), Javier Escuella/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. 001 - başlangıç.

**Author's Note:**

> aa this is my first rdr2 fic!! im sorry if the characters dont seem like themselves, gimme some time , im getting used to it
> 
> the oc has turkish heritage
> 
> this fic has turkish songs, sentences 'nd some spanish as well; translations are at the bottom of each chapter
> 
> excuse the mix of modern turkish and old turkish, i’m new to learning turkish so i might mix it up:(
> 
> excuse the absence of logic and long chapters, im trying to get used to writing again:)

frankly, you didn't understand what was going on.

you were pickpocketing some rich-looking man, he found out and stabbed the palm of your hand.

the pain, it truly was something new. everything was. most of the pains you had endured weren't physical but still heavy. this was.. completely different. the feeling of muscles being stabbed, your skin ruptured, it should have made you scream, cower for mercy.

but it didn't.

you simply stared into the man's oculars, his eyes held a look that you could exactly pinpoint.  
you've seen it many times before. those were the eyes of men that needed power, when they saw a challenge, something that hurt their pride, something stronger than them.

it was the same look your father had before murdering your mother.

the same look when he threw your infant sibling against the wall.

the same look when he spat on her grave.

the look when-- no... erh,

the look you had learned to bow under.

your face grimaced, still staring at the (perhaps a bit spooked) man while you pulled his revolver out, the one with the ugly engravings and all, and pressed it against his temple.

"look at you, boy. stealin' my gun 'nd all..." the man laughed, the laugh wasn't from amusement but from pure agitation.

even if you didn't understand a single vowel in that man's language, you surely understood the venom flowing through that laugh. 

you decided not to rile him up further, you simply nodded towards your stabbed hand while having an iron grip on the gun.

and then another stare-battle started.

your empty, kind of creepy, eyes staring into his. he seemed to notice this was going nowhere and twisted the knife around in your hand, like he was eating some nice spaghetti.

it's not like the pain was already bad, no not at all...

the twist broke your staring, it made you burst into a raspy scream, your throat ached from the coarseness.

the man seemed satisfied, definitely not like he had stabbed someone's hand. even though you did deserve it...  
he smacked the gun out of your hand, grimacing while retorting something you couldn't quite catch. not like you would understand it anyways.  
you reached for the knife lodged in your metacarpus and try to remove it, only for the fancy man to repeatedly smack your face with his revolver.

"lan! dur, abi!" you spur out, your claret pooling up on your face. it was like the mediterranean sea, on your face, instead of water, it was blood. instead of salty, it was metallic.

you felt your head spin, like someone was spinning your world like a globe, making you unable to focus on the man who was probably going to murder you.

and with the thirteenth smack, you went out. 

in all honesty, you thought you would have woken up in hell, maybe heaven if you were lucky...

but no, here you are, tied against a fucking tree and your ass hurts. you blink in confusion before your brows furrow and you yell out:

"lan aptal! benim götüm niye ağrıyor?! neredesin sen!" you yelled out, trying to escape those mean ropes. the man next to you flinched, a worried expression on his face, he said something that you paid no attention to and kept yelling.

however, this was a really shitty idea, you soon realized that. when around thirty-ish heads turned towards you.

you looked around, down to your feet, up to the sky, not really knowing what to look for. you couldn't feel your knife tied to your left ankle either so you had to find a different way out, well... about that...

while you were struggling to slip out, three men lined up in front of you.

the first one was a brown man with a poncho, the other a blondie that looked like he could crush your noggin like an apple and the last one was the fancy one from yesterday.

before you could scream his face off, he put his hands up and purred a soft: "shhh, son. calm down." making you resort to scowling instead while he continued: "do you speak english? eng-lish." he repeated which just made you frown instead. he sighed while the blondie groaned: "he ain't worth it, dutch. just let him go-"

"he stole my watch 'nd two guns, held 'em like he was a true outlaw, arthur! i know a good man when i see one. y'know what we say 'we save folk who need savin-'" and their arguing vent on for forever...

until the mexican leaned in to whisper in your ear: "hablas español?" in which you tilted your head in confusion and he simply nodded.

the fancy man huffed before looking at you while pointing to himself: "dutch." he pointed at the blondie, "arthur." then the mexican, "javier."

he paused to see if you got it, repeated it another time before you let a small, understanding 'aah!'

they were saying their names!

it took you a while to get their names right and remember them but you got it at some point. then dutch pointed at you.

"demir." you say your name with a soft nod.

dutch chuckled: "see? i told you we can make it work, arthur." he started blabbering again and you couldn't help but look up to the sky, maybe that would be more entertain--

oh.

you forgot her.

your eyes widened in realization, you hastily called out to one of the men: "vallah beni öldürecek... ppsssst! abi?" yavi- erh, havie- no! javier looked towards you but simply shook his head when you signaled to remove the ropes.

"ey! hadi lütfen!! bırak beni yaaa~!" you whined again but went unnoticed. 

and then they left.

(translations)  
-lan / dude (seen as a rude word)  
-dur / stop  
-abi / brother  
-hablas español / do you speak spanish  
-vallah beni öldürecek / i swear they're going to kill me  
-hadi lütfen / c'mon please  
-bırak beni / let go of me  
-yaaa / (a pleading whine)


	2. 002 - bucaklı tavuk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> demir is still tied to the tree, like they're drying him like peppers on a string.
> 
> one day, an o'driscoll approaches, luckily you had that knife from a chicken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> excuse the modern turkish and short chap
> 
> if you're thinking "how did a turk immigrate to america?" just know, we dont need logic in my fics
> 
> also, the faceclaim for demir is barış akarsu, he's a turkish rock singer and has a really sweet voice, please do check him out  
> (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bar%C4%B1%C5%9F_Akarsu )
> 
> *also, by having barış as the faceclaim for demir doesn't mean i think he's a thief, i simply wanted my oc to look like him

a part of you still had hope to wake up in aslan’s bed, her making some turkish tea while humming in the kitchen… oh how you missed your sister, she must be worried sick about you. 

sure, you had a habit of not showing up on time but that was hours, you were gone for two days. 

when you stole dutch’s belongings, you were actually on your way home but when you saw that shine, you couldn’t resist. 

now that you think about it, you’re like a crow. smart yet dumb. likes shiny stuff. 

only when the coffee from last night is splashed onto your face do you stop thinking of your family. 

you jolted up, cold, shitty, coffee was running down your torso. the smell was so nauseating— how were you going to get this out of your hair?!!

dammit! you should have tied it up before they kidnapped you, the damn thing was reaching your thoracic!

aslan had told you multiple times to buzz it off but you didn’t dare. (the egg-head gene was in your gene-pool, though, you didn’t have it but it was a small fear of yours.)

anyways, back to the subject. 

you frowned at the man in front of you, he was also blond like arrrrtur- arr- artu- argh! that other white guy! but this one looked ugly and had the worst mustache you had seen in the wild west. 

“ mornin’, pretty-prigger.” the man grinned with the most agitating look on his face, you only replied by spitting coffee on his face. 

ha! salak! get a taste of your ow-

and bam! he punched your face. 

now, you weren’t one for violence, you weren’t good with your hands unless it was stealing so if you did punch back, it would probably tickle him. 

besides, you’re tied to a fucking tree. 

“so that’s how it is, huh? listen here-“ the man started before rambling off, you tried your best to, not look at him? you’re guessing dutç— dutc-h, there ya go!

dutch saw your pleading eyes and sighed, the cigar in his hands falling to the ground like waste after two puffs. he simply said something to the old blondie which made him glare at you before spitting on you. 

“tanks.” you retorted, you had difficulty with pronouncing the ‘th’ sound, at least they would understand to some extent. 

they simply walked away after that, leaving you with coffee stains and a sore face. 

although, a black girl did come up to you with uncertainty in her eyes, a wet cloth in her hand; she quickly rubbed the coffee off your face. 

you smiled as a way to express your gratitude and shooed her off before that old lady saw. 

and here you are, gagging at the smell of caffeine while being tied to a tree, presumably ’starving’. 

maybe hours went by, maybe mere minutes but you weren’t sure… 

the boy next to you got to ride out somewhere and then got to walk around on the camp?

the cook was chopping some wild carrots, you were secretly judging his cooking skills before you got bored and decided to watch the chicken instead. 

is that- 

“bucaklı tavuk? burası gerçekten cehennem mi? pssst!” you try to lure the chicken over but just end up stepping on it, making it drop the throwing knife. 

you managed to balance the knife on your foot, exhaling while wiggling your two digits out of the ropes you had been loosening, if you lost this chance.... well, try again? 

throwing the knife up, you just about grasp the knife, you quickly hid it behind your back, celebrating your victory.

and then you went to work.

though, you were a bit traumatized from seeing a chicken with a knife in its mouth, but you let it slide for now.

you took your time cutting through the dense rope, it’s a small blade, have patience. it felt like forever (it was probably forty minutes) but he cut them free.

fortunately, no one noticed you sneaking behind a few trees, sure you had some valuables that they had ironically stolen from you but you just wanted to go home.

but there was someone passing through.

you didn’t recognize this man, he had a green neckerchief? you weren’t sure since you saw his clothing in a flash, he was quite speedy.

the man entered the camp, saying something you didn’t pay attention to. you simply peeked from the tree behind him and looked at the gang members, everyone was clutching their weapon of choice but they knew they couldn’t shoot.

it was easy to see that they wanted him dead. 

you inhaled sharply before bending your knees, positioning your feet and sneaking over to the man.

you were right behind him, where you really going to kill a man for your kidnappers?

think straight, demir (even if you have difficulty doing that.)

you’re no murderer, right?  
you’re not like baba, right?

right?

you were inches away from stabbing the knife into his hals, your arm up in the air, hand tensed--

no.

instead, you dropped the knife in front of him, making him look down and expose his neck, which made you elbow him there. hard.

only when he’s unconscious at your feet, do you let out a relieved sigh.

(translations)  
-salak / idiot  
-ç / (a turkish letter that is pronounced 'ch')  
-bucaklı tavuk? / a knifed chicken?  
-burası gerçekten cehennem mi? / is this place really hell?  
baba / dad


	3. 003 - ateşli el

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> demir sticks his hand in a campfire for his belongings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes demir has no impulse control
> 
> also dw stuff is gonna happen, dont stress it

everyone just seemed to, stand there.

the distance gave you relaxation, though. you calmed down and crouched down to rob the man dry. looking through his pockets, shoes, patting his armpits, everywhere really, down.

he mostly had (in your opinion) useless papers which you flong next to him, the most he had was a couple cents and a silver watch. boring.

dutch, however, seemed interested in the papers and slowly approached the unconscious man, his hands up in surrender like you were armed to the brim or somethin’.

you made a stabbing motion towards him, backing him hop back. this, this was definitely weird. the feeling of power, even with something so small… _off ya! şair mı oldun şimdi?_ you rolled your eyes before snickering at dutch, putting the knife on the ground next to you and waving him over.

you looked through the stranger’s hat while he took a look at the papers, even called another old man over.  
you let them at it, read and discuss a bit before calling out:

—psssst.

—ah! yes my son?

— _eşyala_ \- errh… bag? knife?

you asked for your belongings back, flinching slightly when the stranger seemed to wake up.

dutch simply put a bullet in his head, making you crawl a good, two meter? you found yourself breathing hastily, sure you had heard gunshots and seen people die in front of your eyes but it wasn’t something you were used to.

the fancy man simply chuckled at your reaction and urged you to follow him with a: “you’ll get used to it, boy.”

he made his way into the camp, these were the parts that you couldn’t eye from the tree. it looked cozy, arr- god, when were you ever going to pronounce these names?

the man with the arms that looked like the trunks of elephants had returned back to his own tent, writing something in a small journal of sorts.

were they really used to this? considering their outlaws, probably but… nevermind, who are you to judge?

dutch made you wait in front of his camp, going over to find your satchel. arthur seemed to be glancing at you a lot. looked at you, then his journal.

it didn’t take dutch long to pull you over to a campfire with a bunch of unknown faces surrounding and dump your bag into the flames.

you stumbled over to the fire, watching everything turn into fine ashes, your photos, letters- gone.

but was it really?

you inhaled sharply, this was stupid. you stuck your hand in the coal and god did it burn. it made you almost screech in pain but your dumbass kept going, digging through the letters to find a small, slender photo and pull it out of the flames. sadly, most of it had burned to ashes.

“what a dumbass…” someone muttered while you ran over to the barrel of water and forced your hand down.

you laughed at yourself. no you really did. all of this, for a damn picture?! your hand were absolutely horrible and dipping them in ice cold water probably would give you hypothermia.

you heard that old man from earlier and dutch arguing again:

—that boy put his hand in flames, and you’re telling me he aint worth it? what he did was bravery!

—thats idiocy, dutch!

—well, i cant argue with that but who would put their hand in fire for a picture? no one! i’m telling you-

and it went on and on and god did your head hurt. you wanted to sneak out but it had gotten way too dark, you’d die in two minutes.

you decided on simply leaning against the barrel with water, keeping your hand in the water.

you were an idiot, you know that but that picture was so meaningful to you, it was the only memoir of your mother and it had withered away, just like her.

you felt angry, mostly at yourself for getting yourself into this, situation. you had to leave at sunrise. had to.

what was your sister going to do without you? poor lady was strapped to her bed due to illness and heavily relied on you.

while lost in thought, one of the ladies went over to wrap your hand up, making you swatt her away, you knew from experience that the cloth would rip your skin. you couldn’t explain it to her and you’re pretty sure she cursed at you before harshly grabbing your arm.

not only were you affected from your low mood, the day had just been the worst in general. you raised your good hand, threatening to hit her before getting to your senses and motioning her to leave.

after she got the signal and left, you took the small bucket to the right and scooped some water up from the barrel. damn you, you were such an idiot.

you had gotten a burn before but that was from a cigarette. this was totally different and so was the pain-

at least you had a good hand left?

what’s with you and pain these days? why do you constantly experience it? will you ever get a break from it?

you figured you wouldn’t and simply sat down, leaning against the tree you were tied to a while ago.

your bladder was going to explode, your hand was stringing, you smelt like coffee-shit and your hair was getting matted.

maybe you could get some sleep..

(translations)  
-şair mı oldun şimdi? / are you a poet now?  
-eşyalar / belongings


End file.
